Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Asher steps toward me, and I suck in a breath. He hooks a finger under my chin, and I have to tilt my head up to make eye contact when he’s this close. My hands that are braced on the oven handle behind me start to feel clammy, and I’m afraid to breathe, afraid to do anything to ruin this moment. His dark, mismatched eyes search my blues, for what, I don’t know.
But it all comes crashing down when I hear the last voice I expect to hear. Here. In my house.
“Uh, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Whitley says, each word dripping with disdain.
Asher snaps out of his trance, and the mask of indifference is firmly back in place.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?” I didn’t even hear her come in. I haven’t so much as laid eyes on her since the party where she bragged about hooking up with Asher, and if I never see her again, it would be too soon.
“Aw, didn’t Asher tell you? I’m his date for your brother’s party. Thanks for keeping him entertained ’til I got here.”
I look at him, my eyebrows clear up to my hairline, unable to comprehend the fact that he invited her, here, of all people. Of all places. That’s a new level of low, even for him.
“You’re not my fucking date,” Ash spits with more venom than he’s ever directed at me.
Before anyone can say another word, the front door swings open and Adrian, two thirty-packs of beer under each arm, and a couple of other people I don’t recognize make their way toward the kitchen.
Asher’s jaw hardens and he shoots a look to my bare legs, and it’s only then that I realize I’m still standing here…without pants.
“Breakfast burritos are ready,” I supply, keeping myself hidden behind the countertop.
Adrian notices Whitley being here and looks at me with an eyebrow cocked in question. I shoot him a look that says tell me about it. No one really likes her. I’m not sure why she sticks around, or why they allow it.
“You’re too good to me, baby,” he says, clutching his chest and making his way toward the food. He fixes his plate and is already inhaling it in three seconds flat. If you want to win Adrian’s heart, food is the fastest way to it. Hands down.
“Damn, girl,” he says through a mouthful, as everyone else starts helping themselves, “shit is the bomb.”
“Briar,” Asher says, his voice cold and hard. Just like him.
“What?” I snap at him. I’m not ready to play nice yet.
“Clothes,” he says in a threatening voice. “Now.”
Adrian stands up from the barstool at the counter and peers over at me, giving me a thorough once-over. Asher plants him back down with a firm hand to the shoulder as I walk away, fighting the urge to cover myself.
“I’d straight-up suck a fart out of that ass,” I hear Adrian say, followed by, “Ow, motherfucker!”
I’d laugh if I weren’t fuming. I’m not even mad at Whitley. This is what she does. But Asher? He knows how she’s always treated me. He knows how I feel about her. And still, she’s here. Smugger than Simon Cowell.
I quickly pull on my white bikini and some cut-off jean shorts and head back to the kitchen. Dash is awake now, already eating, and stands when he sees me. Asher is sitting on the arm of the couch, and Whitley is perched between his spread legs.
“Thanks for breakfast, Bry,” Dash says, hooking an arm around my neck and giving me a quick peck to the top of my head.
“Surprise,” I say half-heartedly, my eyes still locked on the man version of the boy I used to love.
Asher stands abruptly, causing Whitley to stumble. “Going to take a piss.” He walks by me, not looking even a little sorry.
“I’m going to go grab some towels. Be ready to leave in five?” I ask. Everyone mumbles their agreement.
Once I round the corner, I pause at the bathroom door to make sure no one else is around, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m barging in. Asher’s standing in front of the toilet, peeing, perpetually unfazed.
“This gonna be our thing? Meeting up in the bathroom? Not exactly the most sanitary place, but I guess it will do.”
“Why’d you do it?” I seethe, too angry to be mesmerized by the glint of silver as he shakes himself once he finishes, before tucking himself back into his shorts.
“Do what?” he says with a sigh, as if he’s exasperated by my antics.
“Why would you invite her? You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I’m not your fucking boyfriend, Briar.” He wields words like a weapon, and they hit their intended target, like a punch straight to my gut.
Of course, he isn’t my boyfriend. Even if we were together, words like boyfriend and girlfriend would seem too trivial a label for us. But it’s about respect. And intent. He intended to hurt me, and that is what stings the most.